A hint of Ivy

We get to my car in the parking lot, and he turns to face me. Oh, gosh. Is this a kiss moment? I hope so. Wait? I hope so!? That’s new.

“It was nice to see you again, Ivy,” he says as he steps closer to me, towering over me, in fact. With his free hand, he tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His touch sends all the pent-up shivers from the last decade down my spine at once. Like muscle memory, I lean into his hand. He is so close now I can smell his after-dinner mint mixing with his cologne—the same lime and cedar cologne I have never forgotten. His wide luscious mouth is just a breath away from my lips and his beard tickles. I want to kiss him so desperately. What is he waiting for? I’m ready! Why isn’t he kissing me? Why does this feel so familiar?

“Nice to see you, too, Adam.” Apparently, his name on my lips is what he was waiting for because he moves his hand from my ear to the back of my neck and pulls me firmly into his kiss. My lips part and his deliciously minty tongue dips into my mouth. Warm honey waves of memory and hope and lust and fear wash over me and pool between my legs. I slide my hands around his neck and cling to him, pulling him as close to me as I can manage. He’s solid muscle and I love the feel of him against me. This feels deliciously familiar and dangerously new all at once. 

“This one,” he breathes. “At last.”

When Ivy Met Adam, a queer second chance rom-com

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